Stan & Wendy's Quest For Nausea Blockage
by liamdude5
Summary: Wendy decides she's through with Stan vomiting on her and tries to do something about it. Craig and Tweek get their own talk show. Takes place in the gang's senior year of high school. Rated PG 13 for suggestive references, language, and mild sexual content.
1. Chinese Restaurant Date

It was a late night in South Park. The sun was down and it was already five o clock at night. While the old people were already turned in, all the young people were out and about, making the most of this Sunday night.

One of those people was Stan Marsh, sitting in a Chinese restaurant, waiting for his girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger, to show up.

"Where is she," Stan asked himself, "I've been waiting here for half an hour."

Stan looked at his phone to see if he'd gotten any new messages and, aside from the annual link to an anti semetic porn site from Cartman, there were none.

Stan must have repeated this routine dozens of times by now: check his phone, look at the door, stare at his fingers, scratch his head, repeat.

But, as Stan was about to consider leaving, Wendy walked through the door and sat at Stan's table, across from him.

"Hi Stan," Wendy greeted, "Sorry I'm so late. I got caught up in homework and I completely lost track of time."

"It's fine," Stan reassured, "Don't worry about it."

"Have you gotten a chance to look at the menu yet," Wendy asked.

"I haven't even been served yet," Stan grumbled, "Even though I've been trying to get a waiter's attention since I got here."

"Yeah," Wendy acknowledged, "I've heard the service is terrible here."

"But the food here is pretty damn good," Stan asked.

"Where did you hear that," Wendy asked.

"Tweek told me about it," Stan answered.

"Oh yeah," Wendy remembered, "He's been on a roll lately. He's the one who recommended that pizza place to that almost gave everyone in class diabetes."

"It was just so good," Stan remembered, "Maybe we could go back one more time?"

"No," Wendy denied, "You remember what Dr Gouache said at the assembly."

"You know," Stan grumbled, "I'm sick of this poor service. I'm getting a waiter over here."

"How are you going to do that," Wendy asked.

"In the smoothest way possible," Stan reassured. Stan then grabbed a flowerpot off the table and threw it at a waiter. It hit him in the head and fell onto the ground, without breaking.

"Smooth," Wendy grumbled.

"Hi there Captain Throws Things," the waiter greeted, "Where's your annoying fat friend who thinks I don't know how to speak English?"

"He's not here tonight," Stan stated, "I'm here with my girlfriend."

"Oh," the waiter realized, "That's a very nice cardigan your wearing."

"Thank you," Wendy thanked.

"My grandmother has one just like it," the waiter stated.

"Ok, that was unnecessary," Wendy growled.

"No," the waiter stammered, "My grandmother really does have a cardigan like that."

The waiter pointed to the corner of the restaurant and Stan and Wendy saw a skeleton wearing a cardigan very similar to Wendy's.

"Oh," Wendy realized, "It looks lovely on her."

"I know," the waiter replied, "So, have you decided what you want?"

"We haven't even seen a menu yet," Stan interjected.

"I know," the waiter stated, "Here, customers order something they think we make and, if they're wrong, we make fun of them."

"That's ridiculous," Wendy yelled.

"I know," the waiter replied, "But, the food here is so good, nobody will ever complain."

"It does seem to be that way," Stan stated.

"Alright," Wendy began, "I'm ready. I'll have the almond chicken please."

"Almond chicken," the waiter yelled, "You think that just because we're a Chinese restaurant, we have almond chicken? I can't believe this! You are a horrible racist! You are as bad as the boy's fatass friend!"

"I'm sorry," Wendy apologized.

"Tell you what," the waiter exclaimed, "I'll just bring you a pile of noodles and butter."

"OK," Wendy stated.

"And what will you be having, sir," the waiter asked.

"I'll have a cheeseburger please," Stan requested.

"Alright," the waiter stated, "I'll have that right out."

As the waiter walked away, Wendy stated at Stan, dumbfounded.

"It's what Tweek got when he came here," Stan explained.

"I swear," Wendy exclaimed, "Only in small towns like this."

"Just remember," Stan reminded, "We're only here for one more year. After we graduate in May, we'll be free of this place. We can go wherever we want."

"Yeah," Wendy admitted, "It is nice to fantasize living in New York or Paris one day, eating foods you can't get anywhere else, sharing an apartment."

"Yeah," Stan thought out loud, "Maybe someday. Hey, after you finish your pile of noodles with butter, you wanna head over to the ice cream place?"

"That'd be nice," Wendy stated.


	2. Stan Comes Home

Stan didn't get home until it was late at night. He used his key to the house to get in and tried sneaking through the living room to his bedroom.

"Hello Stan," Randy greeted, having revealed himself as sitting on the couch.

"Oh," Stan greeted, "Hey Dad."

"I see your coming home late," Randy observed, "Weren't you out on a date with your girlfriend or whatever?"

"Yeah," Stan argued, "Look, I meant to come home sooner, but we went out for ice cream after we had dinner, then we ended up just talking at Stark's Pond, and I just lost track of time."

"I see," Randy stated, "And were you, at one point tonight, sleeping with this girl?"

"What," Stan yelled, "No, Dad."

"Were you doing drugs with this girl," Randy asked.

"No," Stan yelled.

"Just wanted to play hooky without telling us," Randy asked.

"I'm going to bed now Dad," Stan stated, finishing the walk to his room.

"You going in there to masturbate," Randy asked.

"Never ask me that again Dad," Stan stated.

"Is that a yes or a no," Randy asked.

Stan then went into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing still up," Sharon asked, coming out of her and Randy's bedroom and into the living room.

"Stan just came home," Randy stated.

"That's outrageous," Sharon growled, "This is far too late for Stan to be coming home."

"Honey, our worst fears have been realized," Randy announced.

"What are you talking about," Sharon asked.

"I think our son is gay," Randy stated.

"What," Sharon questioned, "How is that your biggest concern right now?"

"Think about it," Randy explained, "He stayed out this late with his girlfriend. They weren't having sex or doing drugs. They were just talking."

"Randy," Sharon scolded, "You are being absolutely rediculous."

"I don't know," Randy thought out loud, "I might have to have a word with Stan's lady friend."

"Randy Marsh," Sharon scolded, "You are not going to talk to Stan's lady friend about any of this ever!"

"Fine," Randy sighed.

"Now," Sharon thought, "How can we deal with Stan coming home this late?"

"I'm not sure," Randy stated, "It may require some thought."

So, Sharon and Randy stood there, thinking about what they could do to punish Stan for coming home late.

"Just so you know," Stan yelled, "I can hear everything you're saying."

"That's lovely Stanley," Sharon replied.


	3. Lunchtime

The next day was a school day. And, since it was a school day, nothing really interesting happened until lunch.

And, as usual, everyone sat where they usually sat.

This meant, at one table, Craig and Tweek were sitting across from Clyde and Token Black.

"I say Season 4 is the best season of Daredevil," Clyde yelled.

"And I say Season 3 is the best season," Token Black responded.

"You're both wrong," Craig countered, "The best season of Daredevil is Season 1."

"Season 1," Token Black questioned, "Are you kidding me?"

"It's a matter of principles," Craig explained, "The first seasons of all of my favorite shows are the best."

"That's stupid," Clyde replied, "Tweek, he must have made you watch all of the seasons of Daredevil. Back us up here."

"Don't try to get Craig to change his mind," Tweek countered, "Once he has an opinion or a stance, he sticks to it."

"Damn straight," Craig responded.

"I don't know," Clyde thought out loud, "You've gotten him to change his stance on some things."

Craig and Tweek both knew what he was talking about, and it always made Tweek nervous whenever it was mentioned.

After Craig and Tweek had started their fake relationship, they started spending a lot of time together to make the relationship seem real. Craig and Tweek grew a bond that couldn't be broken as a result, but they still didn't do couple stuff, like dates and kissing.

So, Tweek would always freak out that somebody would catch on to their fake relationship and something bad would happen. But, that hasn't happened yet, so there was still some hope in Tweek's mind.

Neither had grown romantic feelings for the other, but they still didn't really want to stop spending time together either. So, they decided to keep the fake relationship going.

"Hey Tweek," Stan greeted, taking Tweek out of his thoughts. Apparently, he'd walked up behind him while he was in his own thoughts.

"Hey Stan," Tweek greeted, "What's up?"

"Just wanted to say thanks again for that restaurant recommendation," Stan thanked.

"Wendy liked it," Tweek asked.

"Well," Stan stuttered, "When we actually got our food, she seemed happy."

"Oh," Tweek realized, "The waiters were too much for her, weren't they?"

"Little bit," Stan replied.

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Tweek apologized, "I should have remembered that customer service is as important as quality food."

"No, it's OK Tweek," Stan reassured, "It was still good. We liked it."

"Well, that's awesome," Tweek calmed down, "If you ever need another recommendation, come to me."

"Will do," Stan replied as he walked back to his own table.

"Damn Tweek," Token Black complimented, "That's, like, the tenth time this month you've given a good recommendation like that."

"Yeah," Clyde continued, "How do you do it."

"I dunno," Tweek answered.

"Please, you have a gift," Craig countered, "Clyde's a stamp tramp, I'm a stamp prude, and you have impeccable taste."

"Which is why you guys have gone to one real restaurant since you've started dating, and it was a Chili's," Clyde deadpanned.

"That was a magical evening," Craig countered.

"You know," Clyde thought out loud, "I think you should have a talk show."

"What," Tweek questioned, "That's rediculous. And silly. And scary."

"Think about it," Clyde convinced, "You have a quirky personality, you have smart tastes, and you lose your mind quite often."

"He may actually be onto something here, Tweek," Craig persuaded, "If Ellen Degeneres is popular, then I'm sure you can rise up there."

"But who would put out a talk show about a nobody like me," Tweek asked.

"I hear Comedy Central's pretty desperate," Token Black answered, "I mean, have you seen 'Legends of O' Neal Heights'?"

"No Token," Clyde deadpanned, "No I haven't. Why would I want to?"

"Even if I were to do this," Tweek stuttered, "Wouldn't I want people to take me at least semi seriously."

"Where else would you go," Craig asked, "Fox? CBS? Lifetime?"

"That's true," Tweek agreed, "I guess I'm in."

"'I guess I'm in'," Clyde questioned, "No way. I want to hear actual enthusiasm."

"Since when are you in charge of this," Craig asked.

"Since it was my idea," Clyde answered, "Now, show me you're pumped."

"I guess I'm in," Tweek yelled, followed up by Clyde getting punched in the face.

"That's the spirit," Clyde moaned from the floor.


	4. The Vomiting

Later that afternoon, Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny were walking down the hallway, ready to leave school, when a hand suddenly grabbed Stan and pulled him into a girls' bathroom.

"Oh gosh," Stan gasped, closing his eyes and bracing for the worst, "I swear I didn't spread the rumor Mary was pregnant. Unless you are Mary, in which case I swear I didn't start the rumor April was pregnant."

"Calm down Stan," the figure reassured, "It's just me."

Stan opened his eyes to see Wendy's face.

"Oh thank gosh," Stan breathed, "I thought my new love of false gossip that accidentally results in popularity and sympathy had caught up to me."

"That sounds needlessly complicated," Wendy observed.

"It is," Stan acknowledged, "So, what's up?"

"Well," Wendy observed, "I realized that I never really thanked you for taking me out to that restaurant last night."

"You don't have to thank me," Stan brushed off, "You're my girlfriend. It's my job to do stuff like that, no matter how many times my parents' credit card gets cut in half. FYI, that number's still at zero."

"I don't think you understand," Wendy seduced, removing her beret and whipping her hair, "I just know that there's a way I can repay you for last night."

"Whoa," Stan gasped, "Here?"

"Why not," Wendy questioned, "School's out, but there are still teachers around, so we might get caught. That's gotta get you excited."

"It does," Stan breathed, "It definitely does."

"Then kiss me," Wendy moaned, puckering her lips.

This part of their relationship always made Stan nervous: the touching. No matter how much he wanted to touch Wendy, he always seemed to mess it up in the same way. This made him scared to ever start make out sessions or lovemaking sessions. But, Wendy was ready to get it on in a public bathroom, so Stan knew he had to at least try. There's simply too much at risk.

Stan puckered his lips, closed his eyes, started leaning into Wendy's lips, and threw up all over her.

"Oh my gosh," Wendy screamed, "Seriously, Stan, again? Why?"

"Sorry, Wendy," Stan blushed.

"My gosh," Wendy groaned, "After all these years, you still do that."

"I don't know why," Stan defended, "I haven't felt nervous around you in years. I've been getting more and more comfortable around you."

"Well," Wendy stated, "As sweet as that is, we should really do something to stop the vomiting. It's becoming intolerable."

"Well," Stan stammered, "Do you still wanna do it?"

"No," Wendy shouted.

"Fine," Stan groaned, "I'll leave you to wash your clothes."

As Stan left the bathroom, all he could think was how, if he ever wanted to score with Wendy, he would have to find a way to stop the vomiting. But what could he possibly do?


	5. Comedy Central

A few days later, Craig and Tweek were able to book a meeting at Comedy Central for Tweek's talk show. Clyde was there as Tweek's agent and Craig tagged along for emotional support.

All along the walls were posters for various Comedy Central shows, from the Daily Show to Win Ben Stein's Money.

The boys were waiting in a room full of empty chairs with a secretary next to a large door.

"I don't know about this, guys," Tweek second guessed.

"You never knew about this," Clyde countered.

"I'm serious," Tweek stammered, "What if the audience doesn't like me? What if they throw things at me? What if the gnomes are in the audience?

"The gnomes," Clyde repeated.

"It's a long story," Craig brushed off.

"Tweek," Clyde motivated, "You can do this. You think you're scared of what's out there, but you're actually scared of what's in here. You're afraid that you're not good enough to do this. But, let me just tell you that I know you're good enough. We wouldn't be here if I didn't think that."

"That was awful," Tweek blurted out.

"What," Clyde stanmered.

"I want to hear Craig say it," Tweek insisted.

"So, you want Craig to say exactly what I said," Clyde asked.

"Craig would say it better," Tweek argued.

"Fine," Clyde caved, "Craig..."

"Tweek, nut up," Craig deadpanned.

"Ok," Tweek replied.

"That's it," Clyde groaned, "I could have done that."

"Not as well as Craig," Tweek argued.

"I swear to everything," Clyde grumbled, "If I didn't need you for this talk show, I would so..."

"What's that, Clyde," Tweek asked.

"Nothing," Clyde snapped.

"Good," Craig replied, "Cause if you said anything hurtful to Tweek, I would've had to straight up kill your ass."

"How much longer do we have to wait," Tweek stammered, "The waiting is killing me."

"Patience, Tweek," Clyde replied, "This is all part of negotiations. We have to wait for him to come to us, to show that we don't really need him."

"Well, maybe we should go show him that we're impatient," Craig deadpanned, pointing to the secretary's desk.

"Fine," Clyde groaned, walking to the secretary's desk.

"Hey," Clyde greeted the secretary, "Do you know how much longer it should be?"

"I don't know, sir," the secretary shrugged off, "Could be a few minutes. Could be an hour."

"Alright," Clyde replied, "I get ya. You know, you're hot. And I'm technically eighteen, so anything we could possibly do is nice and legal."

"I'm married," the secretary growled, "To a navy officer. He's super buff."

"Got it," Clyde whimpered, walking back to Craig and Tweek.

"Nailed it," Clyde bragged.

After a few more minutes, a man in a suit came from the office and the boys stood up to greet him.

"Hello boys," the suited man greeted, "My name is Michael Fudge. I'm in charge of programming at Comedy Central."

"Hello, sir," Tweek greeted, shaking Michael's hand.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you," Craig stated while Clyde shook Michael's hand, "But my mother taught me not to lie."

"Excuse me," Michael gasped.

"He's kidding," Clyde brushed off, everybody sitting down, "He pokes these little jabs at us. Watch. Craig, what do you think of me?"

"I think you're a faggot," Craig mumbled.

"See," Clyde reassured.

"Please," Michael stammered, "Why don't you all step into my office?"

Michael led the three boys into his office. Michael sat behind his desk and the boys sat in chairs in front of the desk.

"I'm going to like this guy," Craig whispered to Tweek.

"Now," Michael stated, "Before I interview any talent, I like to make it clear that first yearers make a maximum of $132,000 anually. That's a non negotiable salary until year two."

"Are you kidding," Clyde questioned, "That's awesome. I only make $480 annually for raking leaves. Who'd fight that salary?"

"You'd be surprised," Michael groaned, "Bob Saget was a real bitch about it."

The three boys stared at their laps uncomfortably for a few seconds.

"So," Michael continued, "You boys had a pitch for me?"

"Well," Clyde began, "I've been thinking that my gay friend here, Tweek, could host a talk show on your channel."

"Really," Michael questioned, "What do you think he could do?"

"Easy," Clyde stated, "He'll sit there and talk to guests and voice his opinions and be his gay self."

"I like what I'm hearing," Michael complimented, "Can he sing?"

"No," Clyde responded.

"Can he dance," Michael asked.

"I can do the Crazy Porpoise," Tweek answered, "Wanna see it?"

"The last time you did that dance," Craig deadpanned, "You spent four weeks in the hospital."

"That was painful," Tweek lamented, "But they had good jello."

"I'm not sure if putting one person who can't sing or dance on TV is the best idea," Michael explained, "Now, if there were two people who couldn't sing or dance..."

"Yeah," Clyde responded, "That's why Tweek will be joined by his boyfriend, Craig."

"Say what," Craig and Tweek questioned.

"Really," Michael questioned.

"Yup," Clyde continued on, "These two are so inseparable, there's no way they'd ever do the show without each other."

"I'm sorry," Craig interrupted, "Can we talk alone for a second?"

"Sure," Michael agreed, "Take all the time you need."

Michael then plugged his ears and turned his chair 180°.

"What the hell are you doing," Tweek questioned.

"This was not part of the plan," Craig growled, "I came here for support and that's it."

"Are you aware that you could get $66,000 in a year," Clyde asked.

"I think Tweek and myself would make an amazing team," Craig told Michael.

"We didn't discuss this," Tweek quietly stuttered, "I don't know if this is going to work out."

"Why not," Craig quietly asked, "Do you have a problem with us spending more time together?"

"So," Tweek asked, "Would we share a dressing room or...?"

"Dressing room," Michael questioned, "Why are you assuming you're just getting a show?"

"Because we're fuckin' crushing this meeting," Craig bragged.

"Fair enough," Michael gave in.

"So we have a show," Clyde asked.

"You bet," Michael responded, "I can't help but fall in love with you two."

"Yes," Clyde cheered, "I'm going to make a significant percentage of $132,000."

"I'm sorry," Craig objected, "When did we say you'd get any money?"

"I whispered it while talking about it with you guys," Clyde reasoned, "I made sure to work in the phrase 'I get 20%'."

"Come on, Craig," Tweek pleaded, "He got us this thing. Let him have some money."

"Fine," Craig caved in.

"By the way," Michael interjected, "On the topic of your dressing room, first yearers have to change in the Conoco bathroom across the street."

"Are you serious," Craig screamed.

"I can't change in a gas station bathroom," Tweek stuttered, "The germs in those bathrooms are deadlier than gnomes."

"I can get you guys the best spotlights money can buy," Michael offered.

"Sold," the boys shouted.


	6. Happy Pills

That night, Wendy was lying on her couch, staring at the TV with a bowl of cherries on her lap.

"Why is it the best guys have to have the weirdest 'quirks'," Wendy thought to herself, "Why can't Stan be less vomit-y?"

The fact that she was watching Jeff Goldblum's "The Fly" wasn't exactly helping things.

As Wendy's Dad came down the stairs and saw his daughter, he knew he couldn't stand to see her like that. But, he couldn't do anything until he knew what was wrong.

"Hey Wendy," Wendy's Dad questioned, "Mind if I sit on the couch?"

"It's a free country," Wendy mumbled, "For now."

"Look," Wendy's Dad began, sitting on the couch, "I know that we can all get a little hurt sometimes, but it's not worth moping around the house like this."

"You don't understand my problems," Wendy grumbled.

"I bet I understand them better than you think," Wendy's Dad nudged.

"Really," Wendy questioned, "So, you've also dated a wonderful guy who vomits on you every time you go in for a peck on the cheek?"

"Well," Wendy's Dad stuttered, "No, but I think I saw something like that on Dr Oz. And Dr Oz said that the only way he could live his life was to accept his condition and move on."

"I don't care what Dr Oz says," Wendy snapped, "I don't mean to be rude, but maybe you should try and accept that not every problem can be fixed with you coming in here and spouting television philosophy."

"Fine," Wendy's Dad threatened, "Maybe I'll just leave you then."

"That would be much appreciated," Wendy breathed, "Thank you."

"Alright," Wendy's Dad growled, leaving the room.

Suddenly, Wendy heard the doorbell ring and got up to answer it. She looked out the peephole to see Stan awkwardly smiling with his hands behind his back.

"What do you want, Stan," Wendy asked.

"Please let me in," Stan pleaded.

"Give me one good reason I should after what you did today," Wendy griped.

"You're my girlfriend and I asked you to," Stan responded.

"That's very offensive," Wendy complained.

"I said I asked," Stan countered.

Wendy finally caved in and opened the door for Stan.

"You are not going to believe what I found," Stan cheered, showing off a small container of pills, "This pharmacy gave me a bunch of pills that are supposed to keep me from vomiting when we kiss."

"I don't know," Wendy cringed, "I don't want to know what happens if it doesn't work."

"Come on," Stan pleaded, "It's been tested to death on other humans. It's supposed to work."

Wendy saw Stan grow a depressing look on his face.

"Fine," Wendy gave in, "Let's try it."

"Awesome," Stan cheered.

Stan placed one of the pills in his mouth and swallowed it.

"You ready," Wendy asked.

"Yeah," Stan replied, "Can't wait for this."

Wendy closed her eyes and puckered her lips. Feeling no nerves, Stan closes his own eyes and puckered his own lips. Then, to both of their surprise, they were able to touch lips for a full five seconds before they pulled apart.

"How do you feel," Wendy asked.

"Fine," Stan giggled, "I feel great. Like butterflies are in my stomach and staying in there."

"Really," Wendy questioned, "That's amazing. Why don't we see if we can replicate the results on the couch?"

"I don't completely understand that," Stan replied, "But if it means we get to make out more, than I'm in."

After about a half an hour of making out on the couch, Wendy found herself standing by Stan while he threw up in her toilet.

Turns out Stan's pills didn't stop the vomiting. They just let the vomit build up until it had to leave the body, which was right now.

And after that much kissing, Stan had a lot of vomit buildup.

"Sorry, Wendy," Stan apologized between vomiting fits.

"It's ok," Wendy grumbled.

"Is it really, though," Wendy thought to herself.

As much as she loved Stan and knew he was probably the closest thing she'd get to a perfect boyfriend in this town. But the vomiting problem really was too much.

She had to talk to someone about it, and she had to do it now.

"...And now I just don't know what to do," Wendy complained into the phone, "You're the only person I felt safe turning to for help."

"Let me tell you," Bebe replied, "You are going to be glad you turned to me. I have two words for you: sexual walkabout."

"What," Wendy questioned.

"Come on," Bebe argued, "At the end if it, you'll actually know if you really want to stay with Stan. I suggest starting with Kyle. He's Jewish, so you know he's got to have it good down there, if you know what I mean."

"I'm not cheating on Stan," Wendy countered.

"Make it fair," Babe argued, "Tell him he can sleep with other people too."

"Every word you say makes me hate you more," Wendy grumbled.

"Let me just talk to Stan about this," Bebe moaned, "Put him on the phone."

"He's still in the bathroom," Wendy admitted, "'Preoccupied'."

"Wait," Bebe questioned, "You just left him in the bathroom to vomit by himself?"

"Yeah," Wendy countered, "What's the big deal?"

"That's cruel," Bebe growled, "Not even I would do something like that. Maybe the problem has been you the entire time."

Suddenly, Wendy thought to herself that this could be the solution. She even always knew what a great guy Stan was.

So, were these feelings entirely her fault? Should she try to deal with them in any way? Should Stan know about these feelings?


	7. Failed Rehearsal

**Warning: This chapter may be a bit more "blue" than others.**

A few days later, Craig and Tweek were on the set of their new show at Comedy Central, ready to start rehearsals.

And, as usual, Tweek was in a panic. Craig was usually the one to calm down Tweek, but he was too busy to even humor Tweek's worries.

"Craig," Tweek yelled out, even though Craig was right next to him.

"What is it, Tweek," Craig asked, "Things are kinda hectic right now."

"I'm worried that I might forget my lines while we're out there," Tweek feared.

"You can't forget lines that weren't written, since it's mostly improvised with only basic outlines of what we're talking about," Craig reassured, "Even if you get stuck about what to talk about, we'll have cue cards saying what segment is coming up next."

"What happens if I'm walking and trip pm my own feet," Tweek asked, "Everyone in the audience will laugh at me."

"They won't laugh at you," Craig reassured, "They'll laugh with you."

"Tripping over my own feet won't make me laugh," Tweek argued.

"That's not the audience's fault," Craig snapped, "Anything else?"

"How should I sit," Tweek questioned.

"What," Craig snapped.

"Should I sit in a way that invites the audience in, while also showing off a care free attitude," Tweek asked, "Or should I sit stiff and hunched over like usual."

"The first one, I guess," Craig begrudgingly answered.

"So, I should just lie to the audience about who I am," Tweek questioned, "Should I dye my hair too? Is blonde too unlike this new me you want me to create?"

"Errr..." Craig stuttered.

"One minute until rehearsals," a random producer yelled out.

"OK, Tweek," Craig brushed off, walking away, "We've got to get this thing going. We can talk about this later."

"But Craig..." Tweek quietly stuttered.

Craig felt a little bad for shoving Tweek aside, but the lights were about to go out and rehearsals were about to start. So, he had to get in his place backstage.

Almost right after Craig stepped on his x, the lights went out and he could barely see in front of his face. Then, the lights from the stage came on.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer introduced, "Welcome to the show* (Name to come later)."

Craig had to remember to discuss what the show should be called with Tweek after rehearsals.

"And now," the announcer continued, "Please welcome your hosts: Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak."

Craig then ran outside, showing the feigned excitement he saw on many other talk show hosts. However, Craig didn't have to take his enthusiasm too much. He would never admit this, but something about the crowd cheering him on made him feel pretty damn good.

But, as Craig sat down in his chair, he suddenly realized that Tweek hadn't come out with him. He was sitting next to an empty chair.

"Um," the announcer stuttered, "Tweek? You coming out?"

"Fuck my consent," Craig grumbled, "Why now, Tweek?"

Craig got up and went backstage to see that Tweek was huddled underneath the craft services table, refusing to move.

"Tweek," Craig whispered, "What the fuck? Why aren't you moving?"

"I'm not doing this," Tweek whimpered, "I'm not going out there."

"What are you talking about," Craig growled.

"I'm just not cut out for this, Craig," Tweek whined, "All their eyes staring at me, waiting for me to slip up. I can't go out there."

"Are you aware of how much money is at stake here, Tweek," Craig yelled, unaware that his mini microphone is broadcasting his entire speech to the audience, "If we don't get it, it's probably just going to go to some vapid, attention seeking whore, willing to let all her holes get stretched to the size of a shower drain if it means she gets to be on TV. She'd probably tell you your coffee tastes like shit, but compliment the taste of the studio executive's cock. That whore definitely doesn't deserve any of our money."

"Well, would you consider letting me wear a blindfold," Tweek asked.

"A blindfold," Craig questioned.

"If I don't see the people's eyes staring at me," Tweek argued, "I may not be so nervous."

"I am not hosting a talk show with a kid who looks like they should be in front of a firing squad," Craig yelled.

"Firing squad," Tweek gasped, "Who said anything about a firing squad?"

"Will you just get out there," Craig growled.

"I just can't do it," Tweek whined, "It's too much pressure."

"There you go again with the damn pressure," Craig yelled, "Why can't you ever just do something to help someone else instead of being so fucking selfish?"

Tweek responded to Craig's outburst by burying his head in his shirt. Craig knew he had to apologize whenever Tweek did this. It didn't matter if he was in the right, only an apology would bring Tweek out.

"I'm sorry," Craig inscincerely apologized.

"I know you didn't mean that," Tweek shot back.

Even then, an apology didn't always work.

"Seriously," Craig yelled, "Have I ever lied through apology to you?"

"Sixty four times," Tweek replied, "And counting."

"You're really anal sometimes, you know that," Craig groaned.

"Mr Tucker," an intern pointed out, "I thought you should know that your microphone is on."

"So the entire audience can..." Craig stuttered.

"Hear everything you're saying, yes," the intern finished.

"Aaahhhh," Tweek screamed, "What must the audience think of me, now?"

Tweek then crawled deeper backstage, making a noise reminiscent of a deflating inflatable.

"Tweek," Craig yelled, "Get back here! We're not done with our conversation!"

But, Tweek couldn't hear him. Or, maybe he could and he just didn't care. Either way, Craig had to go out, sit back in his chair, and face the audience alone.

"So," Craig cheerily greeted, "What's in the news this week? I hear President Garrison did something stupid."

"I'm a Garrison supporter," an audience member yelled.

"I'm a Bernie supporter," another audience member countered, "And I agree with the foul mouthed brat."

"Agree with what," Craig questioned.


	8. It's a Dad World

Randy could wait no longer. Now that Sharon was out of the house, he knew that this was the only time he could try to fix his son.

Randy had to get over to the Testaburgers' house right now, and set things right.

As he drove over there, he snarled and fumed his nose at what that Testaburger girl had done to his man. He'd have been less ashamed if he said she castrated him.

He gripped the steering wheel, strangling it as if it were a chicken and he were a chicken farmer. He angrily blew air out of his nose so much, boogers were getting stuck in his moustache.

Did I mention he was angry?

Finally, after a lot of angry drivin', Randy reached his destination: Wendy Testaburger's house.

Sure, Sharon told Randy he couldn't talk to Wendy. But, she never said anything about Wendy's Father.

After Randy turned off his Beside Oneself Banjo Bonanza CD and left the car, he stormed right to the Testaburgers' house and knocked on the door.

"Hey," Wendy's Dad greeted, opening the door, "How can I help you?"

"Hi," Randy greeted, "My name is Randy Marsh. I'm the father of Stan Marsh, your daughter's boyfriend."

"Yeah, I know who you are," Wendy's Dad stated, "I went to your DNA testing par..."

"Yeah, that's all nice," Randy brushed off, "Listen, we need to talk about your daughter. I don't know what crap she's slipping into his head, but she won't turn my son gay anytime soon."

"What the hell are you talking about," Wendy's Dad questioned.

"She's just letting him accept the fact that he's not having sex or doing drugs," Randy growled, "It makes me sick."

"Let me get this straight," Wendy's Dad questioned, "You're upset at my daughter because you believe it's her fault your son has responsibly decided to practice abstinence."

"Exactly," Randy brightened up, "Now we're on the same page. If you could talk to her, tell her to slut it up a little bit, I'd really appreciate it."

All Wendy's Dad could do was stare at this man and try not to punch him in the face.


End file.
